


and for a second there,

by akhilleus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Jealousy, PTSD, Unrequited Love, falling, post-serum Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akhilleus/pseuds/akhilleus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky considered that if she wasn't so obviously interested in him and the circumstances were a little different, he would like Peggy Carter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and for a second there,

**Author's Note:**

> Thank the lovely, lovely [grigorisgadreel](http://grigorisgadreel.tumblr.com/) for betaing this. Title from The Killer's Miss Atomic Bomb, _and for a second there we'd won / we were innocent and young_.

Bucky eyed the couple from afar. He shouldn't, really, not when he was busy loading up guns and cleaning knives and making sure all of their equipment was ready. Still, he was glancing—no, glaring at the couple like some jealous ex.

“I know, I know. Been too long, heh?” Falsworth clasped him on the shoulder, staring as Steve took Carter's hand too. Bucky glanced at him, and it was only when the other looked back at him that he managed to muster a smile to put on his face.

“Yeah. Too long.” he said, nodding as he looked back at the work he was supposed to be doing, forcing himself to focus and making a mental note to be less obvious next time—he had no illusions that this was a one time thing. No, Steve and Peggy seemed far too pleased with each other for it to be a one time thing.

The rest of the group had now found a new topic to discuss—the last time they had been with their wives, girlfriends or lovers. They all sighed, missing the comfort—of their bodies, for some, or of their temperaments.

“If only she was here...” Bucky heard, and he couldn't help but frown. No. No one should wish for their loved ones to be here. Even if they stayed outside of danger, even if they kept to themselves in the barracks and didn't venture outside for one moment, no one could possibly want them to be there. Not when every time Bucky looked up, he wanted to grab Steve by the shoulders and pull him down, just in case there was a bombing.

He glanced up again, and Carter was leading Steve inside by the hand.

\-----

“Buck?”

Bucky groaned in his sleep, turning around before opening his eyes. It was dark, but he knew that Steve was probably staring back at him.

“What?” he managed, sitting up so he wouldn't doze off again. Sleep seemed to have become even more of a commodity now than before. He almost wanted to worry about its effect upon Steve's health—and then he remembered that Steve was probably immune to those sorts of humane troubles now.

“What do you think of Peggy?” he asked. Bucky could hear him sitting up too, swinging his legs off the cot so they were facing each other.

He had to take a few moments to process what the hell was Steve talking about, before it dawned on him that he was referring to that pretty, skilled, almost scary woman who was always by his side now.

“She's… nice, I guess,” Bucky murmured, shrugging, because that was the answer he knew Steve wanted to hear. Even if he was also aware his voice didn't carry the enthusiasm Steve probably hoped for. 

Bucky considered that if she wasn't so obviously interested in him and the circumstances were a little different, he would like Peggy Carter. She was smart, capable, seemed to be funny, had a sense of justice, and got along well with people who mattered.

But in these specific circumstances, Bucky could do little more than hate her for being able to touch Steve in ways he knew he never could.

“She asked me out,” Steve announced, but his voice didn't carry the pride Bucky thought it should. The brunet looked at his silhouette for several moments, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that a girl had asked his best friend out directly—though he truly should have been expecting it by now, gotten over it. Peggy Carter certainly wasn't the only girl to show interest. He wondered if Steve had let down all the other ones or if he hadn't even realized that everyone swooned over him.

“She's pretty. You should accept," Bucky shrugged, speaking as neutrally as he possibly could. “Though I'm sure you can take a pick from all these lovely dames now, right? They're all fighting over you,” he added after a moment.

“Yeah. I guess,” he heard Steve mutter. Then, after a moment: “Private Lorraine kissed me the other day. I think Peggy was jealous.”

Bucky was jealous too, fisting his sheets at the confession. But still, he tried to focus on the rest of the situation—which didn't really do much, but the least he could do was maintain a semblance of normal Bucky. “You mean you two haven't…”

“No.”

Bucky paused, then grinned.

“Well, when it comes to it—”

“Bucky.”

“—because I can't imagine it won't—”

“Bucky...”

“—at least you know where to put it.” They had gone over it before. Bucky had told enough stories, and they read forbidden books in childhood. It was as much of a sexual education as one could get without actually getting a girl to open up her legs for them. 

Steve sighed loudly and turned his back to him. Bucky didn't know whether to feel bad because he'd annoyed his best friend or relieved because it got him to stop talking about it.

After a few moments, Bucky got up and walked over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing his fair hair back hesitantly, even though it was the kind of gentle gesture they had been used to back in the day, when he had had to wipe the sweat away from his skin when he had during fevers.

Now, though, there was no reason for him to be doing this other than just affection. 

“Sorry. You know I'm just kidding,” he said quietly, trying to be truthful. Well, he was being truthful, really, but it was surprisingly difficult to play the part of just-a-friend and not end up confusing which of his feelings he should display and which he should not. “Just not used to having to share ya.”

Slowly, Steve turned to look up at him, smiling softly.

\-----

Steve didn't tell him what the dates were like, but Bucky knew they were happening and withdrew even more into himself than he already had.

He hadn't been lying when he said he wasn't used to sharing Steve. However, that didn't refer just to the girls; it was everything. Suddenly, Steve had all these people rooting for him, all these new friends and all these new people to laugh with. And even though Bucky knew, superficially, that he was still Steve’s best friend, but the true nature of being 'best' hit him, because at that moment, there were several 'friends' to choose from hit him.

He hadn't realized things were getting so bad until one night, he was talking technology with Howard—who used to be his idol, someone he looked up to—and lost it.

“—still trying to replicate the serum, of course, but truth is that I'm an engineer, not a physician, and our research hasn't been particularly fruitful, even though we're still trying, of course, how can you not try to find out the secrets behind your magnificent friend's body? He's beautiful, isn't he? A true gift—”

Later, when Bucky retreated to the tents and tried to sleep, he blamed it on the drinks they had been having while talking, the brightest type of scotch, the kind of stuff only someone with outstanding privilege could afford.

And maybe it was the scotch's fault, in part. Bucky had been doing great so far. He wouldn't just punch someone like that over his feelings for Steve. Not over and over.

He had been barking something along the lines of, “You think I'm thankful for what you people did to him?” and, “You people have no idea of what Steve is like, _I_ do!” and, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” and, “Why couldn't you just leave us alone?” and, “Just let us go home, please.” 

Somehow, he had ended up with bloody knuckles and a wet face while straddling Howard Stark, who had just stared at him like he was crazy. He must have been, to try and ruin that man's face for something that was only partly his fault.

Eventually, Howard had managed to push him off of him, blood on his pretty suit and all over his face and hair, but Bucky just hadn’t cared, still crying.

A few minutes had passed before Howard had come back with a wet piece of cloth and had taken care of him wordlessly, as if he had weighed down the pros and cons of leaving Bucky there petulantly and decided it just wasn't worth it. 

The next day, Howard Stark was roaring about how selfish some husbands were to not want to share their beautiful, beautiful wives, and no one dared to ask why Bucky's hands were bandaged. He meditated bitterly that probably, no one even noticed.

\-----

Sometimes, Bucky woke up in the middle of the night to light kisses to his forehead and hair and nose and lips and cheeks and a warm embrace he took way too long to recognize as being Steve's, and Bucky could do little more than clutch at his clothes and hold him close, trying to merge into him, get under his shirt and under his skin and hide from all the pain that he had been exposed to even though he should be braver than this, he should be stronger than this. Then, he remembered being tortured and being allowed to think just enough to repeat his name, rank and serial code, because that was what good soldiers did under torture; they repeat and repeat and repeat until the enemy gave up or killed them—and Bucky remembered feeling so wrecked, he had thought he’d rather it was the latter.

He was told later that he had been whining and squirming in his sleep, and that he had probably been having nightmares. and Steve couldn't stand to see him like that. After he had calmed down enough to go back to sleep, his friend had gone back to his own cot, and everything had seemed to be normal again.

Bucky remembered the kisses, but he knew they were only Steve's way of calming him down and didn't mean anything, and so he never talked about it. Neither did Steve.

\-----

“Great work there, Sarge,” people kept repeating around him, all around, and Bucky only smiled what he hoped was a smug grin back, because truthfully, he wanted to throw up for having to do these things in the first place—having to kill those men because they were starting to get too close to his friend and that couldn't happen, and the thought that if only Steve had stayed home, he wouldn't be risking himself in the first place made him dig his fingernails into his palm until he could breathe properly again.

Sometimes, Howard Stark looked at him strangely. He was doing that now. Bucky looked back at him, and eventually, he saw an opening and slid over to the stool by his side.

Bucky didn't say anything, just eyed Steve's laugh through the mirror that was set up behind the bar.

“You know, it's quite obvious when you know what you're looking for.”

Howard's voice made Bucky jerk his head back in his direction, and he stared at him for several moments, waiting for an explanation that didn't come.

“Excuse me?” he gave in, finally giving him the cue that he was clearly waiting for.

“The signs are all there; you just have to look for them. It's clear as day. You, Sergeant Barnes, are in love.” Howard looked so, so pleased for having figured that out by himself, and Bucky just stared at him some more, trying to figure out all the possible paths and which one would hurt less to take.

“I am not a queer,” he said at last, voice low, barely above a whisper so nobody could hear him say that goddamned word. Of course, he had taken too long for any attempt at 'I don't know what you're talking about' to be remotely effective. In a bright spirit of strategy, he tried offence. “Are you?”

Howard _snorted_. “Even if I were, I wouldn't be telling you, kiddo.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. They weren't more than two years apart in age, but he let it go. “Just leave me alone, Stark,” he murmured, shaking his head and looking away from him.

For a moment, he thought Stark would, but then instead of leaving after he got up, Howard leaned in. “Piece of advice. You really, truly need to get laid. Get your mind off of this. Better than dwelling over an unrequited love. Besides, you could get killed in battle just because you're distracted.”

He ended up with a piece of paper with an address he could only guess belonged to a whorehouse, watching incredulously as Howard Stark left him.

The only reason Bucky didn't go was because he refused to give him the satisfaction.

\-----

Bucky was more careful after that. If Howard could see it, he had no guarantee that anyone else couldn't either, and he couldn't afford to have people knowing about his… crush. How else could he put it? He wouldn't put it so bluntly like the engineer had, not even in his head, but he had to name it. And yet, no words seemed to come even close to how he felt.

Slowly, he started spending more time alone, inventing hobbies just so he had an excuse to stop being by Steve's side all the time. If anyone noticed, they didn't say anything, but he felt it in his heart—it clutched, squeezed every time he had to step back.

It didn't take long until the only reminder of how close they used to be were the times in which he had woken up in Steve’s arms and had been soothed back to sleep.

\-----

He was hanging on for his life but his fingers couldn't take much anymore.

“Bucky, take my hand,” he heard Steve saying, but the wind was too strong and Bucky feared he would die of having his lower body ripped away instead of falling, like it seemed it was going to happen now.

“Bucky!” One of his arms gave way, and then it was only one hand supporting all his weight and more, and Bucky was trembling, looking up at Steve with tearful eyes. He was trying to reach him, but Bucky knew that he wouldn't manage it.

As soldiers, they were trained to expect death, because it might come at any time, in any way. They were told that it was honorable to die for their country, that their people were grateful for the work they had done, and that if they came back, they would be heroes, and nothing could be more prideful than that.

In the end, the only reason Bucky was still alive was because of his best friend, his childhood friend, his leader, his captain, his love.

Bucky tried to whisper his secret, but there wasn't any time. His fingers gave away, slipping from the edges he had been holding onto and still reaching even when there was nothing to reach anymore. He wasn't sure what he screamed as he fell, but his mind was a deafening mixture of _no_ and _please, God, no_ and _I'm sorry_ and _I love you_ and _Steve_ and _thank God it's me and not him_. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://enjolrs.tumblr.com)!


End file.
